The Shadow 192 Voice of Death by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1940-01-31T23:00:00+00:00

His ascent was safe as far as the second floor. Above that, he would be visible, for the next-door roof was low and the city’s glow made a background beyond it. But second floor suited The Shadow, for the present. Clinging to a window ledge, he jimmied the sash in silent fashion and slid into a darkened office.

From then on, The Shadow took a stairway to the top floor, passing many offices, some of them vacant, for few people rented space in the ancient Drober Building.

On the top floor, The Shadow reached the entrance to the offices of the Drober Corporation. With a guarded flashlight, he studied the glass-paneled door.

Scratches showed that the frame surrounding the glass pane had been pried loose. Extinguishing the light, The Shadow pressed the frame; it gave, just far enough for him to press his hand through and reach the latch within.

Entering, The Shadow closed the door as silently as he had opened it. He didn’t need his light to continue on his course. Sounds guided him; they came from an inner office. An intruder was moving about, working in pitch darkness.

THROUGH the doorway, The Shadow groped ahead; his fingertips contacted a chair, then a long table.

The Shadow’s probe was noiseless; nevertheless, a flashlight suddenly moved in his direction. Before its owner could spy the cloaked invader, The Shadow crouched between the chair and table.

The light swung to the side wall, brought an ebony glisten from the black front of the big safe. Then the glow centered on the chromium-plated dial.

There was cool calculation in that survey; the sort of deliberate procedure that characterized Ted Lycombe, when he wasn’t in a headstrong mood. Remembering Ted’s statement that he was “ready for anything,” The Shadow did not find it difficult to visualize Ted as the man behind that light.

But guesswork was not proof. The Shadow wanted visual evidence, of an absolute sort, before identifying any criminal.

The light turned downward. It showed a battered felt hat, inverted on the floor. In the hat lay a handkerchief, knotted to form a mask. A hand plucked the handkerchief from the hat; the light remained steady for a scant second longer.

In that brief interval, The Shadow saw something that the sharp glare revealed; a detail that would not have been noticeable in ordinary light.

The hat had once contained initials, pasted inside the top. Those letters had been removed. but their outline still remained, in light-brown against dark. In his brief glimpse, The Shadow saw the traces of the letters “E.J.L.” As with the cigarette case dropped at Barstead’s, they identified Ted Lycombe as the owner of the hat.

Then the light was gone. A crinkly sound came from the darkness, caused by something other than the soft handkerchief mask. The thing was explained when the light appeared again; this time, the flash propped against the hat, so that the rays were directed up to the safe front.

Into the glowing circle came hands that were fully visible, yet clouded by a thin, filmy substance that gave them a yellowed hue.

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